


take a breath, hold it in

by orphan_account



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, I love him, M/M, Nightmares, Pneumonia, Sickfic, Whump, buck is a little shit, its a sickfic ladies!!!, throwback to the tsunami, yes it is and what about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24397018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Are you an idiot?”That’s the first thing Buck hears as he’s hauled back over the side of the pier, soaking wet and shivering so hard he might bite his tongue off. Eddie is glaring daggers at him, hissing curses in Spanish so quick that Buck, who’s currently trying to suppress the sound of a tsunami siren going off in his head, has no hope of translating.“Y-yes?”
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), but like really its not, its ambiguous
Comments: 22
Kudos: 838





	take a breath, hold it in

**Author's Note:**

> I am an East coast gal and have just realized it’s probably not that cold in January in LA. idk why that thought escaped me for so long. Anyways suspend ur disbelief for a few min :)

_“Are you an idiot?”_

That’s the first thing Buck hears as he’s hauled back over the side of the pier, soaking wet and shivering so hard he might bite his tongue off. Eddie is glaring daggers at him, hissing curses in Spanish so quick that Buck, who’s currently trying to suppress the sound of a tsunami siren going off in his head, has no hope of translating. 

“Y-yes?” he grits out. Eddie clicks his tongue and throws a shock blanket over his shoulders, guiding him towards the rig. Buck coughs hard, and mouthfuls of salty water dribble onto the blanket while Eddie hits him between the shoulder blades. 

“Gross.” He groans. Eddie gives him a look and hustles him faster. 

“I-is she okay?” Buck asks as Eddie nearly forces him down on the edge of the ambulance. 

“Yeah, they’ve got her en route now.” Eddie says. “Hen says she’s gonna be fine. Thanks to you.” 

Buck grins against his chattering teeth, shakes his hair so freezing water hits Eddie square in the face. 

“N-now who are you calling an i-idiot?” He asks. Eddie wipes off his face with a dramatic flourish and bumps his shoulder.  
“Still you, Buckley. I coulda dived in. Why do you have such a martyr complex?” 

“I was f-faster.” Buck says simply, and ignores the rest of the question. 

Bobby, who has been arguing animatedly with his wife for the past few minutes finally wraps it up and comes over. 

“Alright, let’s get back to the station. Buck, you alright?”  
Buck nods. “J-Just cold, Cap.” 

Bobby looks at him up and down. 

“Yeah, I’d say. Leg? Head?” 

“All good.” 

“Alright, let’s just get you warmed up then.” 

Buck turns to Eddie, a stupid grin on his lips, ready to suggest how he might be warmed up, but Eddie is two step ahead of him, shoving Buck’s abandoned gear back into the rig and waiting for him by the door. 

“Don’t say it,” He warns as Buck approaches. 

“Eds, I kn-know how you can help me-” 

“ _Don’t fucking say it.”_

“D-did you know on arctic expeditions, they used to strip and-” 

“Buck, I swear to GOD- _”_

* * *

A piping hot shower helps bring back circulation, and after changing into his spare uniform and scarfing down the soup Bobby makes for dinner, Buck is feeling almost human again. He lets Hen go through the motions and check him out, but she declares him healthy, so he decides to collapse in the bunk room early and hopefully catch a few hours. 

Of course, that plan goes to shit the moment his brain decides a tiny dip in freezing water is enough of a trigger to throw him back nine months. Then there are just rising tides, the pain of being under the surf for so long his lungs have caught aflame, the sheer panic of trying to grab the scruff of Christopher’s t-shirt, and finding that his fingers have closed around water instead.

He wakes up in complete darkness. His hands are dug into his blankets and his lungs feel like they’re about to explode. It’s late. He picks up his phone; the display reads 2:38 AM. 

The bunk room is silent save for Chim’s snores, and Buck suddenly feels like he’s been entombed, so he throws off his blankets and leaves, collapsing on the couch in the common room. 

He’s fine, he tells his rapid heart. He’s fine, calm down. He scrubs at his face, digging his nails into his scalp, and when he coughs, it leaves a salty residue on his tongue. 

“Buck?” Eddie emerges from the bunk room, blinking blearily, t-shirt half-untucked. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” He lies through his teeth. Eddie blinks, and Buck can see the shadow of stubble growing back on his face in the low light of the room. 

“Do you feel alright?” Eddie shuffles over and sits on the couch next to him. “That water was cold, you were down for a while-” 

He reaches out and feels Buck’s forehead with the back of his hand, and God, he knows he should pretend to get irritated, smack Eddie’s hand away, make a joke. But he just can’t. He’s so tired. He can’t. He stays quiet as Eddie goes through the steps of a vitals check, half-asleep, working off the muscle memory of being a medic alone. 

When Eddie’s satisfied he’s alright, he just sits back on the couch and looks expectantly at Buck, suppressing a yawn. 

“M’just tired, Eddie,” He mumbles, looking down. 

“Buck,” Eddie chides gently. 

Buck lets a long silence hang in between them, where he fights down another cough and rubs the back of his neck, willing the alarm to go off. Of course it doesn’t, and Eddie’s the most stubborn son of a bitch Buck’s ever had the displeasure of trying to outlast, so he finally gives up, falls back on the couch, and turns his head to meet Eddie’s eyes. 

“The tsunami,” Buck admits quietly. 

Comprehension dawns on Eddie’s face, but he stays quiet. 

“The call just reminded me of it, that’s all.” 

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie studies him for a minute, then digs around for his phone, pulling something up. 

“Pepa sent me this around ten, after you went to bed.” Eddie turns the phone towards Buck. It’s Chris, asleep on his bed. A book is open in his lap and his glasses are skewed on his face, smushed up against the pillow. Buck smiles in spite of himself. 

“He’s okay, Buck,” Eddie says. “Because of you. He’s okay.” 

Buck bites back his standard response ready on his tongue, knows Eddie will forgo sleep and sanity to yell common sense into him, and he just nods. 

“Yeah,” He says, and his voice cracks. “Yeah.” 

Eddie puts his phone down. 

“Think you can sleep?” 

Buck shrugs. “I can try.” 

“C’mon.” 

  
Eddie pulls him off the couch, and Buck follows him in the bunk room. If he can’t fall back asleep, if he just lays still, eyes closed, until he hears Eddie’s breathing even out next to him, well, then, no one has to know but him. 

* * *

Eddie’s been up for a while, has already worked out and is helping Bobby get breakfast ready when Buck stumbles out of the bunk room. 

He eyes his partner suspiciously. His eyes are rimmed with red, and his pale skin is tinted pink around his cheekbones. Buck collapses at the table, places his head down, and mumbles something to Hen. She makes a sympathetic noise and pats his back. Eddie exchanges glances with Bobby, who jerks his head towards his own cup of herbal tea sitting on the counter. Eddie grins his thanks and takes the cup over to the table. 

“Drink.” He says, placing it in front of Buck. Buck makes a face, but hesitantly takes a sip, then sits up and wraps both his hands around it. 

  
Eddie helps bring the food to the table, watching Buck out of the corner of his eye. He hasn’t even made a move towards the Keurig yet- which is enough to set off alarm bells in Eddie’s head alone- and is just sipping his tea and talking to Hen about Karen’s newest project at JPL. 

Maybe he’s still struggling since the call yesterday. It was supposed to be routine- someone collapsed on the pier, suspected heart attack. Once they arrived, Chim took over CPR from civilians while Eddie and Buck tried to keep the crowd controlled. A little girl had been standing on a bench after being pushed back, and she had fallen backwards into the icy water after her brother threw an elbow. 

Given that it was January, and that she didn’t emerge after a few seconds, they both knew what had to be done. Eddie had already started towards the edge of the dock, unclipping his radio, when he felt someone pull him back. In a second, Buck was shoving his radio into Eddie’s hands and diving off the top of the bench into the pale white water. 

He was down for too long, the water was too cold, and Eddie’s brain was too quick at filling in hypotheticals. When Buck emerged, pushing the girl’s head up before his own, Eddie finally took a breath. He hauled the girl up, got her passed off to Hen, and then laid down on the wooden slabs to pull up his partner next. His stupid, reckless partner, who was taking deep, shuddering breaths, like his lungs were half-frozen, whose clammy hands were pale and streaked red as Eddie clasped them between his own, whose bright blue eyes contained pupils that were entirely blown out, like the shock had nearly killed him. He choked on water, spitting out mouthfuls of it onto the pier as Eddie thumped his back. 

Idiot.

Eddie watches him lightheartedly rib Chim over his latest failed attempts to beat Buck at cards, and he can’t help but notice that he just seems a little...lackluster. There are no big exaggerated movements to accompany his teasing, no energetic bounce in his step as he retrieves his abandoned jacket from the back of the couch, and he’s almost speaking quietly. 

His suspicions are confirmed when, after a quiet breakfast and no calls, they blessedly get off on time. 

“Hey, you wanna come over later? Chris has been wanting to watch that Avatar show with you.” He asks, bumping shoulders with Buck as they walk out to their cars. 

Buck makes a noncommittal noise. 

“I’ll try to,” he says, unlocking his Jeep.

Eddie stops. 

“You‘ll try to?” He says incredulously. “Seriously, Buck, you okay?” 

“Just tired.” He says, eyes downcast. Eddie sweeps one more glance over him. 

“Okay. Well, call if you feel up to it,” Eddie says, and Buck nods and opens the door. “Or if you feel worse.” Buck waves a dismissive hand.

“I don’t feel sick!” He yells as he careens out of the parking lot, grinning at Eddie. 

Eddie rolls his eyes and starts his truck. 

He’s such a bad liar. 

* * *

Oh god, this is bad. 

Buck grips the railing at the top of his stairs, several hours after his shift ends, and wonders if he somehow has grown back into his childhood asthma. His lungs are tight in his chest, and he has to put his head down, breathe deep for a few seconds, before the dizziness passes and he can keep walking. 

He throws off his uniform, not even bothering to replace it with pajamas, and goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He glances at the thermometer in his cabinet as he grabs the toothpaste, looks at his reflection- flushed cheeks, bright eyes- and closes the cabinet door. 

He’s fine, the water was just cold. No need to check his temp. 

He’s got a 10-hour shift tomorrow, but as long as he gets some rest now, he’ll be good as new. 

That’s what he tells himself as he gets into bed and sets the last alarm possible to still get to work on time. Theoretically, he’s giving himself plenty of time to get over this cold, or whatever it is. 

In practice, however, it doesn’t work at all. Buck wakes up at 7 the next morning and wonders if it’s possible to get a compassionate release from life over a cold. Each breath only seems to get halfway down his throat before it dissipates into nothingness, and any deeper breathing results in a nasty lawn-mower sound emanating from his lungs. 

Shit. 

He can’t call out now, it’s too late. And really, he’d rather chew his own arm off than have Bobby see him as unreliable again. So, being that it’s far too early to psychoanalyze _that_ particular thought, Buck pushes through- puts on his uniform, blanches at the idea of _food_ and only stops three times on the walk to his car to catch his breath. 

* * *

“No.” 

Bobby crosses his arms, looking down at him from the loft. Buck wearily pulls his bag further onto his shoulder and scrunches his nose up at his boss. 

“No what?” He calls back crossly. It catches in his throat and he coughs into his elbow. God, that stings. 

“You’re sick.” Bobby says. 

“Buck’s sick?”

There’s some clattering and Eddie and Hen appear at the railing, Eddie with toast hanging out of his mouth, and Hen with a concerned look. 

“Am not!” He protests. But even as the words leave his mouth, he coughs, and it triggers the horrible sputtering in his chest that makes him feel more likely to drown in his own mucous than save anyone today. 

“Stay where you are, Buckaroo,” Hen warns. She comes down the stairs and opens the bay doors to the ambulance. Buck sighs, making eye contact with Eddie. He grins and takes another bite of his toast. 

“You want some?” He asks, mouth full, offering it out over the railing. Buck’s stomach churns at the thought. 

“Hard pass.” He tells his partner shortly. 

“Your loss.” Eddie shrugs, then leans down on his arms to watch Hen, who is approaching Buck with a mask and gloves on, thermometer in hand. 

“Really, with the getup?” Buck says indignantly. Hen shakes her head and reaches out to push the thermometer across his forehead. 

“I’m not taking your death virus home to my wife and kids, Buckley, I like being happy.” She says. The thermometer beeps, and she looks at the display, frowning. 

“102.4, Cap,” She says. 

Buck deflates. 

“Go home, Buck,” Bobby says, tone a little softened. “Let me know how you’re doing in a few hours, yeah?” 

Buck waves a dismissive hand at him, rubbing his face. 

“Sorry, Buck,” Eddie calls. “I’ll stop by after my shift.” 

Hen rubs his shoulder sympathetically. 

“You’d be miserable if you stay at work,” she says. Buck blinks, and finds, weirdly, that there are tears in his eyes. Huh. 

“I know,” he says thickly. “I’m going.” 

So he goes. 

* * *

“I _knew_ he was sick!” Eddie says as he returns to the table. He glances back and watches Buck walk out, shoulders slumped all the way down. 

“He was acting a little funny yesterday,” Bobby agrees. “Do me a favor, check in with him every once in a while? He didn’t look so hot.”

“On it, Cap.” 

The day goes by, not too insanely, thank God, since they’re a man down, but not terribly quiet. Buck responds the first few times Eddie texts him, mostly emojis and as much sass as he can fit into one word answers, but it’s proof of life, so Eddie will take it. However, as the shift is winding down, his texts start going unread. He glances at his watch. It’s nearly 7 PM, it’s technically possible he just turned in for the night. But something deep in his gut is tugging.

Buck always responds. Puts his phone on high during the night, has responded to Eddie at 3:30 AM after a sixteen-hour shift from hell. 

Something must be wrong. Eddie stares at his phone, wills the three little dots to pop up. When they don’t, he shakes it off, clambers up to help Hen with the restocking. He’s fine. Eddie’s just overreacting. 

Still, as soon as the relief shift gets in, Eddie takes off. He stops by the grocery store and picks up some standard sick day stuff- Gatorade, soup, crackers, and calls Pepa to ask if she can keep Chris for a few more hours. 

Buck’s car is parked outside his apartment. He’s probably just asleep. Eddie doesn’t even bother knocking, just keys in quietly. 

“Buck?” He half-whispers. 

The entire apartment is dark, and there’s no sign that he’s made anything to eat. Eddie sighs and flicks on one of the dimmer lights in the kitchen, puts the groceries down, and climbs the stairs to the loft. There’s a Buck-shaped lump in the middle of the bed, blankets obscuring Eddie’s view, save for one bare leg sticking out. Eddie turns on one of his lamps and sits on the edge of the bed, pulling back the blanket. 

Buck is dead to the world, face flushed and sweaty. He’s shirtless, apparently having just shed his uniform and gotten right in bed. His hair is sticking up in every direction. His breathing is labored, Eddie can tell that much by just listening to it. 

“Buck,” he whispers, shaking his shoulder gently. “Buck, wake up.” 

Buck’s eyes blearily blink open, and he stares at Eddie with hazy confusion for a second, before he starts coughing- harsh, hacking, like he’s trying to shed the lining of his throat. When it doesn’t subside after a few seconds, Eddie immediately pulls him into a sitting position, arms around his shaking shoulders. After a minute or so, the coughs die down, and Buck wheezes hoarsely, letting his sweaty head fall directly into Eddie’s lap. His eyes close, and Eddie notices, for the first time, that the skin around his mouth was a pale color, contrasting starkly with the flushed red of his cheeks. It’s almost blue. 

“Buck,” Eddie says carefully, placing a hand on his forehead and finding it burning to the touch. “Do you feel alright?” 

Buck shakes his head slightly, like he doesn’t trust his voice, and takes a shuddering, mucousy breath.

“Okay.” He says. He tries to get up, but Buck’s eyes widen in panic, and he grasps at Eddie’s t-shirt. Eddie swallows the fear that spikes in his stomach and gently pushes Buck back onto the pillows, smoothing down his hair and pulling the blankets back up. 

“No, no, Buck, I just need to go get your med kit from the bathroom, I’m not going anywhere, I promise, I promise.” 

Buck nods and only looks half as devastated as he did before, so Eddie quickly hurries to the bathroom and returns, kit in hand. 

“I need you to sit forward, cariño,” Eddie murmurs. Buck sits up, clinging to Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie sits on the edge of the bed and places the stethoscope between his shoulder blades. His breath sounds are crackly and there’s some intense inflammation happening in there, which, coupled with his shitty pulse-ox reading and high fever, is making Eddie think it’s time for a fun field trip to the ER. 

“Give it to me straight, doc,” Buck croaks out, falling back on the bed and curling around Eddie. Eddie stares at the thermometer, the other hand automatically reaching for Buck, settling in his sweaty hair. He glances up and gives Buck a thin smile. 

“I’m gonna call Bobby,” he says quietly. “Stay put.” 

“Nowhere to go.” Buck coughs and curls further into the bed. 

Eddie only goes into the bathroom, not willing to be more than five steps away from his partner, and dials Bobby. 

“Hey, Eddie,” Bobby greets. In the background, he can hear May and Harry arguing and Athena yelling at them to quiet down, and a smile tugs at his lips against his will. 

“Hey, Bobby,” Eddie says. “I’m at Buck’s apartment now, and-“

“Is he alright?” There’s a clatter on the other end. 

“His SpO2 is low- 92.” Eddie rattles off. “High pulse, fever’s at 103.2, and he’s having trouble breathing. I’m-“ Eddie glances out, finds Buck asleep again, his fingers closed around the blanket. “I’m about to bring him to the ER, honestly.” 

It’s silent for a second. 

“That bad?” 

“He coughed so hard I really thought he was going to throw up. He needs to be on meds, maybe supplemental oxygen. This fever needs to come down.” 

“Okay,” Bobby says. “Okay. You want me to meet you?” 

“Nah, maybe they’ll let us go after a few hours. I’ll keep you updated.” 

“Thanks, Eddie.” 

Eddie ends the call and sighs, already dialing Pepa to ask her to keep Chris overnight. 

* * *

“So, I have good news and bad news, Mr. Buckley,” Dr. Fazir says, shutting the door behind her. “Which one do you want first?” 

Buck glances at Eddie, who shrugs, then struggles to sit up and take the nebulizer mask off his face. 

“Good.” He says hoarsely. 

“You’re not contagious.” Dr. Fazir says, flipping around her tablet so they can see the screen. 

Eddie scrutinizes the CAT scan, sees the cloudiness he’d heard in his lungs, and squeezes Buck’s shoulder. Buck blinks, coughs. Eddie guides the mask back onto his mouth. 

“He’s not contagious?” Eddie prompts. 

“Mm-hmm. Blood tests confirmed. You said you took a dive off the pier the other day?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie interrupts Buck, who’s trying to pull down the mask again to answer. “We’re firefighters. It was during a rescue.” 

“Well, I believe you have what’s called aspiration pneumonia,” She says. “You most likely ingested just a bit too much ocean water, and we know it’s not the cleanest.”

“Told you you should have let me go,” Eddie says, crossing his arms. Buck raises his eyebrows and pulls off the mask again. 

“So you could get pneumonia instead?” He asks incredulously. Two hours of IV fluids and antibiotics have brought back some of his energy, and unfortunately for Eddie, his sass has come with it. 

“I wouldn’t have gotten pneumonia,” Eddie teases, and pushes the mask back onto his face, wrapping the band all the way around his head so it’ll stay. “My immune system is superior.” 

“The bad news,” Dr. Fazir interrupts. “Is that your lung function is down, and I don’t like it at all.” 

Buck shoots him a wide-eyed glance. 

“Does he need to be admitted?” Eddie asks. Buck finds his hand and clings on. 

Dr. Fazir blows air through her lips and crosses her arms. 

“I want to say no.” She says. “I know your health history is a little spotty, but now, you’re a healthy twenty-eight year old. However, I certainly don’t want to send you home by yourself.”

“Absolutely,” Eddie says firmly. “He’s coming home with me. I’m a trained medic.”

“Okay, great!” Dr. Fazir says. “Let’s get you through this neb treatment and fluids, and I’ll send you home with an inhaler and antibiotics. However, if his breathing becomes laboured, or if this fever doesn't break, he’ll need to come back in.”

“Sure. I've got a pulse-ox at the house, I'll monitor him.” Eddie says. 

“You’re lucky,” Dr. Fazir says to Buck. “Not a lot of people have a medic they can go home with,”

“Lucky’s one word for it.” Buck mumbles through his mask. Eddie grins and squeezes his shoulder, and Buck turns so his face is pressed up against Eddie's hand, sighs, and closes his eyes again. 

* * *

“Daddy!” The front door opens, and Chris flies through, crutching to his father as fast as he can. 

“Chris!” Eddie crows, pausing from chopping vegetables to squat down and throw his arms around him. “How was your night at Tia Pepa’s?”

“Good,” Chris says, extricating himself from Eddie’s grasp and going to the couch to take off his shoes. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, buddy.” 

“How come you didn’t come to get me?” 

Eddie pauses and glances down the hall. There’s not a peep from his bedroom. “Buck got sick, buddy.”

They hadn’t left the hospital until around 3 AM, and came back to the house laden with meds. Eddie had put Buck to bed, and that’s where he’d stayed. 

Chris looks up sharply. 

“He’s okay, I promise, but I had to take him to the doctor last night.” 

“Does he still feel bad?” Chris asks urgently. 

“Yes, he’s going to be sick for a while. He’s asleep in my room, so we have to be real quiet and not wake him. The good news is, you can’t catch it, so as long as he feels okay, I bet he’ll wanna hang out with you.” 

“Cool.” Chris says. 

Pepa bustles in, ending a call on her phone. 

“Hola, mijo _,”_ She says. Eddie bends down to kiss her cheek. “How’s Buck?” 

“Better, Tia. Thank you for watching him.”

“Anytime, you know that. Take good care of your boys.” She pats Eddie’s cheek. “I’ll see you on Monday.” 

“Adios, Tia,” Chris yells from the couch. Eddie whirls around and looks pointedly at his son. Chris has the decency to look contrite, slapping a hand over his mouth. 

“Sorry,” he says in a stage-whisper. 

Pepa chuckles and leans over the couch to kiss her grandnephew. 

“Be good.” 

“I’m always good, Tia.” Chris says seriously.

“I know, mijo, I know.” 

Pepa waves and leaves. 

“Come have lunch, huh?” Eddie says. Chris scrunches up his nose at his father. 

“Did you cook?” He asks. 

“Yes,” he points his spatula at his son. “But it’s a new recipe, and you’re going to try it, and you’re gonna like it.” 

“Aye aye, cap’n.” Chris says, and hits off a salute that is so reminiscent of Buck that Eddie has to bite back a wave of fondness that threatens to overtake him.

* * *

“Can I go see if he’s awake?” Chris asks. Eddie glances down at his watch. They’ve been home from the hospital close to fifteen hours now, and Buck’s gotta get up to eat and take his meds anyway. 

“Sure, but be gentle, and be quiet.” 

Chris nods and starts off towards the hallway. Eddie finishes doing the dishes and follows him down. 

“Bucky,” Chris whispers. His crutches are abandoned on the floor and he’s got his elbows on the edge of the bed. “Bucky, are you still sick?” 

Eddie leans in his doorway and watches Buck blink open his eyes blearily. A sleepy smile spreads across his face. 

“Hi, little man,” he says hoarsely. 

Chris grins and reaches out to pat Buck’s cheek.

“You’re hot.” He says. 

“Your dad thinks so, too,” Buck mumbles. He darts a half-lidded glance at Eddie, grinning slightly. Eddie rolls his eyes. Chris completely ignores this exchange. 

“That means you have a fever.” Chris insists. “You’re still sick.” 

“I am sick.” Buck agrees, moving to the edge of the bed. “You know what would make me feel better?” 

“What?” Chris says. 

“If you came up here and watched Avatar with me.” 

Before Eddie can stop him, Buck has reached down and pulled Chris up onto the bed, settling him next to him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Chris, for his part, shrieks with excitement and looks for the remote. Buck nestles back down into the covers, one arm sling loosely around Chris. 

Eddie makes eye contact with him and smiles softly. 

“C’mere,” Buck says, somewhat muffled. Eddie sits on the edge of the bed as Chris chatters away about the show they’re going to watch. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks quietly. Eddie pushes back his hair, out of habit, out of need. “Really.”

“Better,” Buck clears his throat, and coughs away from Chris. “Really.” 

“You don’t sound it.” Eddie says. 

Buck shrugs and moves so his head is on Eddie’s thigh. He looks up at him, and he’s feverish, loaded on meds, and is smiling lopsidedly, and Eddie is pretty sure he's the most beautiful sight in the universe. “I’m with you guys. How could I be anything but?”


End file.
